


Infatuation

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: The Road We Never Drove On [10]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble





	Infatuation

                Catherine’s wearing his coat.

                Standing in his doorway, smirking, and wearing his coat.

                Well, more specifically, she’s wearing the Doctor’s coat. But David’s grown rather attached to it over his time on the show, and can’t help thinking of it as his. Sort of.

                In any case, it’s not _hers_.

                Also, she’s wearing it buttoned up, and David has never thought it looked right all buttoned up.

                There is the question of why she’s showed up at his door at 11:30 at night, but really even that isn’t too strange. He’s far more curious how she got his coat off-set without raising suspicion.

                So that’s what he asks her about. “Catherine, how did you get my coat?”

                “What, aren’t you even going to invite me in before beginning to question me?”

                David stands back and holds the door open while she strolls inside. Her heels click against the hardwood floor.

                Of course, when David notices this he begins to wonder why Catherine is wearing heels. Because she doesn’t like heels, at least not enough to wear them for something besides a red carpet appearance or for an acting job.

                Something about the entire situation simply feels _off_.

                As he’s closing the door, David says, “So. Coat. Why?”

                “Someone left the door open to the costumes. Couldn’t help myself.”

                “But then why did you come _here_?”

                Catherine giggles. She’s pleased that David appears so bemused. “Do you not watch movies, David?”

                “Of course I do. I’ve watched more movies than you have, thank you very much. Where are you going with this?” he asks, even though in all honesty he isn’t sure he wants to know.

                “So think in the context of movies for a moment. Go on, I can wait while you work it out. Don’t want to, but I can.”

                He looks her up and down. His coat. Heels. A glimpse of lace stockings—he thanks the Lord she’s not wearing fishnet stockings or so help him. Her smirk. Because she will _not_ stop smirking.

                His eyes widen, and he swallows. “Catherine,” he whispers. “Please tell me you’re not naked under that coat.”

                “Goodness, David, certainly not.”

                This calms him down slightly, but then another thought occurs to him. “Please tell me you’re wearing a full set of _clothes_ under that coat.”

                She just eyes him. Neither confirms nor denies.

                Which, he knows, is as good as denial.

                David starts to focus on his breathing, because he feels suddenly concerned that he might hyperventilate. “Perhaps I should have asked this question when I opened the door. _Why are you here_?” As opposed to putting that coat to good use with Twig, he wants to add. If she’s so keen on using it somewhere before she has to return it.

                Actually, no. He doesn’t want to say that, because he doesn’t like the idea of Catherine doing _anything_ with _any_ man involving _his_ coat.

                “You’re oblivious, you are.” Catherine takes a step toward him, and he backs away involuntarily. “Do you not see the way I look at you? Do you think that the way I act with you is the way I act toward all my _mates_?”

                Well, as a matter of a fact, yes he _did_ think she acted that way toward all her mates.

                Though he mostly just didn’t think that Catherine was the type to allow her own eyes to stray beyond whichever man she was in a relationship with. Otherwise, perhaps he would have wondered.

                “Oh.”

                “But you want to know something else?” She steps even closer, and David backs farther away but now he’s against a wall and he doesn’t have anywhere to go anymore.

                “What?” The word comes out nearly an octave above normal, and there she goes smirking at him again.

                She’s standing so close, and with her in those heels and David barefooted, they’re almost the same height.

                “I see the way you look at _me_ when you think I’m not paying attention. I’ve noticed. You think you’re so sneaky, but you’re really not.”

                He gapes at her. Of course, he could insist that he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Could say she’s talking nonsense. Could say she’s crazy. Delusional. Seeing what she wants to see.

                But he doesn’t because he can’t lie when she’s standing there in front of him. Wearing his coat. And an undeterminable amount of clothing underneath. Undeterminable, mind you, because at this point she was entirely hidden by his coat. Not because it was impossible to determine. No, he could figure out precisely how much she was wearing quite easily.

                His fingers go to the top button of the coat. “Why are you doing this now?”

                “Because. This is the first time the room has been open when I’ve had a bag large enough to smuggle the coat out in.”

                The first two buttons are free. Some of his fingers brush her skin as he continues. “Why are you doing this _at all_?”

                David looks away from his hands, up at her eyes. He stares at her intently. She’s fighting herself very hard so that she can hold his gaze. “Because I want you. It hurts how much I want you. And I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.”

                “So you’ve come to shag me because you’re infatuated and you want to get over it.”

                She frowns. “That’s not as nice of a way of putting it as I might have chosen. But… yes. Does that bother you?”

                “No.” His fingers keep traveling down, releasing each button. Catherine has crossed her arms so that the coat remains entirely closed. “Maybe I’ll get over you too.”

                But he looks away, because he doesn’t mean that. Not by a long shot. His feelings for her won’t go away because of sex; if anything, he’s concerned that this will make him fall harder.

                Every button has been undone. Her arms are the only thing, now, keeping it closed.

                She releases it, simply to grab the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss.

                Automatically, David closes his eyes. Kissing Catherine is essentially instinctual; it’s the most natural feeling in the world, her lips against his and her body pressed against him. One of his hands mimics hers, settling on her neck to pull her even closer.

                It’s when his hand goes to her waist that he remembers the situation, because he feels nothing but her bare flesh. Curiosity overwhelms him, and he opens an eye to glance down.

                Everything is black lace, not just the stockings; bra, knickers, the garters actually _holding up_ the stockings. David made a sound deep in his throat that can only be described as a growl, and Catherine grinned against his lips.

                He had imagined, on occasion, what she would taste like. What it would be like to explore her mouth with his tongue. But nothing that he imagined rivals the actual feel, the true moment. Simply snogging Catherine is so overwhelming and spectacular; he’s fairly certain he’d be content to do just that for hours.

                Of course, she has something else in mind. Far too quickly, she pulls away. Her hands move to his shirt, tugging up up up and off. She throws it behind her, and he sees it land on the door handle.

                Where she touches him, his skin burns. While Catherine is unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, it suddenly occurs to David that dear God she’s still wearing the coat. He tries to pull it off her shoulders, doing his best to avoid thinking about what it will be like to put it on tomorrow. She rolls her eyes, like he’s being a bother, but steps back so that she can pull it off and toss it onto his sofa.

                This, of course, means that they have to go somewhere else. Because he’s not shagging her on the sofa with the Doctor’s coat right there. That would be weird.

                Somehow.

                “Bedroom, Catherine?” he murmurs.

                “Oh, if you insist.” She gestures to his jeans. “Those had better be off by the time we get there.”

                And so David hops down the hallway to his room, tugging his jeans down and discarding them somewhere in the general vicinity of the kitchen.

                Catherine is still wearing her heels. He suspects it’s because she likes being almost as tall as him; he’s made so many jokes about how short she is that it must be vindicating for the ground to be leveled suddenly. But when they reach his room, she sits down on his bed and pulls them off, carefully placing them directly underneath the bed. “Come here, David, I’d like you to help me with these.” She gestured to her legs.

                He’s never dated a woman who wore garters, even for some fun in the bedroom, so he fumbles with the clasps; not because he finds removing garters is difficult, but simply because he’s never done it before. She doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it amuses her that David is showing her that he feels awkward.

                Most men she’s slept with would never imagine allowing her to see any indication of discomfort.

                He tugs the stockings down slowly, and when they’re off he puts them beside her shoes. Then he rises to her level, leaning forward.

                Leaning until she’s lying on his bed and he’s above her, kissing her again because hell, when’s he ever going to get the chance to do this again? If he wants to snog her more, he better do it now.  

                Through the material of his pants, she can feel him, pressing against her inner thigh. He’s so hard; why is he bothering with kisses when he _clearly_ wants her just as much as she wants him?

                Grabbing his hips, she rolls them over so that she’s on top of him. “Fuck me, David.”

                All he wants is to make love to her. Just once. But it seems that Catherine isn’t willing to let him to do that the way he wants to. He lets out a soft groan and gestures toward his bedside table. “There’s a box in the drawer.”

                The box is almost empty; she tries very hard not to think about the other women who have shared his bed.

                He kicks his pants off, and she shimmies out of her knickers. She only remembers to remove her bra because David reminds her.

                On his scale from meaningless to meaningful, this is _not_ the most meaningless sex David has had in his life, because like everyone he’s met people in bars and woken up in unfamiliar bedrooms the next day. But this also is fairly meaningless, because it is never happening again.

                All he is to this woman is an itch that needs to be scratched.

                Incidentally, she does scratch him. They find a comfortable rhythm and she digs her nails into his skin as she screams.

                David wonders if she’s always this loud in bed. He wonders if Twig receives similar reactions.

                The thought makes him pump harder because if this sex is meaningless, it might as well stand out as a memorable performance.

                And perhaps it does, because Catherine begins to climax first, David’s name flying from her lips. Just the sight of her beneath her, just the sound of his name, is enough to push him over the edge.

                Both of them remain silent for a few minutes, lying on the bed. She’s not sure what to say, and he simply doesn’t want to be the first one to speak.

                “Thank you,” she says eventually.

                “I’m being thanked for sex. That feels like a new low.” He hopes it comes out like a joke, even though he doesn’t really mean it like one.

                She knows that he means it, but she laughs anyway. “Don’t say that. I… It…” It was the best Catherine had had in a very long time. But she can’t say that. “Don’t say that.”

                Whatever she began to say, he doesn’t bother to push her. Actually, he’s trying to think of the fastest way to get her out of his flat because since that is the inevitable result, he wants it to happen sooner rather than later. He doesn’t want to bother with any sort of politeness. “You should probably go,” he says.

                “Yes, I suppose I should. Do you think… Could I perhaps borrow a shirt and trousers? I felt uncomfortable enough hailing a cab in that get-up once. Don’t make me do it again.”

                She’s just shagged him, and now she’s going to go home to Twig and Erin in some of his clothes, too.

                When she leaves, she actually forgets the coat on his sofa. Which means that David is the one who walks onto set the next day, coat on his arm. He hopes that perhaps he will go unnoticed, but when one of the costume people catches him bringing it back, he has to explain that he was just having a little fun. Decided to cook, sit around and watch the telly, sleep as the Doctor.

                “Right, of course that’s what you used it for,” she mutters.

                He doesn’t bother to correct her, because she’s simultaneously so close and so far off that he doesn’t want to bother.

                When they see each other, Catherine smiles at David and asks him how he’s doing.

                Great, he tells her.

                Absolutely wonderful.

                Perhaps a week later, she pulls him away during a break on set.

                To scratch an itch.


End file.
